Ranger Creed
by ladykniggit
Summary: (post-movie) Four interconnected stories, told from the perspective of each member of the A-Team in increasing order of rank. Something a member of the A-Team does puts the other three in mortal peril, and it is up to that one member to get them out of it again.
1. Intestinal Fortitude (BA)

_**Chapter 1: **_**Intestinal Fortitude (B.A.) **He shouldn't have swerved. He knew, B.A. knew better, but he still did it. He swerved right into that IED and when he wakes up, their stolen van is upside-down.

_**Warnings: **Minor blood, gore, results of a car hitting a relatively minor IED. Probable intense luck that all four main characters survive fairily easier, with minimal injuries (henceforth known as the "Star Trek" syndrome). Also: B.A. is a Ranger, but he sure as hell isn't a doctor._

* * *

The thing was, B.A. Baracus knew better. He knew that the insurgents liked to use decoys, realistically dressed scarecrows, and sometimes real people, to make American vehicles swerve off road and onto IEDs. He knew that, he'd been in Iraq and a whole bunch of other places where that was the case. Being in some forest someplace fleeing from a drug kingpin's compound shouldn't have made a difference. But even though B.A. knew better, he still reacted in that moment. In a flash, his brain knew _scarecrow_, his eyes saw _child_, and his hands reacted _swerve._

He didn't really remember the explosion. Didn't really need to; his brain filled in the blanks for him. IED under the right front tire, flipping the van. Airbags deployed, vision obscured. Status: screwed.

Hannibal had made friends with some militia operation in a country that B.A. had never heard of, with a population that could reportedly fit inside the state of Delaware, and who were dealing with the fallouts of a government coup and problems with a local drug kingpin. Why and how wasn't really something that B.A. needed to know, ditto on just how they were getting paid (which, given this job, probably wasn't a lot). Disrupting the drug trade was fine by him. One of the perks of being freelance now, rather than Army. One of the only perks, really. B.A. couldn't stomach thinking about much else. So, they were here. Tropical-ish climate, nothing too terribly hot or wet, based out of a rudimentary but well-supplied militia base, whose COs wanted the A-Team to destroy the drug gang's weapon cache and to acquire some intel on their suppliers. Easy, in and out. Hardly even exciting. Well, except for the moment that someone on the other side found an RPG and fired it a little too close to what was to be their escape helicopter before Murdock could steal it. The crazy man was fine, though, a little singed and a lotta pissed about "the murder of a fine, innocent specimen" but that was why Hannibal had back-up plans. B.A. stole an armored van, picked up the guys in true A-Team style, and they drove off towards the militia base with the gang struggling to keep up. Home free.

And then B.A. drove them right into an IED.

B.A. driving, Hannibal in the passenger seat. Face behind Hannibal, Murdock in the seat behind B.A. That was the first bit of information his brain supplied when he opened his eyes. Second came the knowledge of the throbbing in his head, the heat on his face, the chalky stench of the airbags, the crunch of broken glass as he dragged his fingers through it and up, up through the heavy air to his seatbelt. The release came with the barest of pressure, dumping B.A. with a groan heavy onto his shoulders. He rolled out of that uncomfortable position, shimming backwards on his back, hearing the glass crunch underneath him. His head bonked something, something solid that kept him in a curled position, and he reached up blindly, fingers curling around the door handle. B.A. Baracus, all over two hundred pounds of him, tumbled ass-over-head out of the van. Landed on something too, something more than the forest floor. Investigation showed it to be a rifle, but that was easily cast aside to allow B.A. to lay comfortably on his back, eyes on the forest canopy above, his whole body one throbbing bruise.

_Get up, fool_, he chastised himself. With some effort, his head spinning, B.A. stood. He may have used the open door to do so, but he The van was gone, trashed. Useless, even if it wasn't upside-down. By some miracle it wasn't on fire, and the damage on the far side didn't seem that far reaching. Had the IED flipped them by itself, or had it just helped them over the downhill slope by the road? B.A. was himself enough to scan the road, which save for a small smoking hole, was quiet. For now.

Sounds from inside the van made him jump, and B.A. was crouched down in an instant, arm reaching in blindly. His fingers curled tightly around fabric and he pulled, unearthing one crazy man from the wreckage of his van. When he turned him over, the pilot's eyes were open. "Murdock!" B.A.'s hands found their way to the front of Murdock's shirt, gripping one part center of mass and one part shoulder, just in case he had to shake a response out of the fool.

"Bosco," Murdock replied, as if sounding out an unfamiliar word. B.A. laughed, struck silly by relief, but the good humor was short lived. There was blood on Murdock, and with his hat gone B.A. could see his hair all matted up in it. Grimacing, B.A. used his grip on Murdock's shirt as leverage to see the wound — B.A. wasn't a doctor, but since he couldn't see the crazy man's brains or nothing then B.A. was willing to give him as clean a bill of health as they were going to get out here. Murdock's eyes were a bit unfocused, more so than usual, and that put ice in his stomach.

B.A. was driving. Shouldn't have swerved. His fault.

He grit his teeth, shoving that thought away for now. He couldn't dwell on it, not just yet, not when he didn't know if they were safe, if there were enemy combatants coming down upon them right now, if that IED had friends, if Hannibal and Face were okay…

First thing first. "Can you stand?" he asked, but it was a moot point. B.A. picked Murdock up, easily (damn fool needed to eat more), and put the pilots back braced between the open door and the van. He held him there as Murdock found his footing. It was a quiet thing, and that raised his hackles up even more. Murdock was never quiet. Always fine, always yapping about something up to and after being told to shut up.

Only, he wasn't now. He was quiet. Silent. B.A. grit his teeth. "Murdock, I'm gonna need you to say something to me, brother," B.A. urged, sparing one second to glance over his shoulder to check the treeline and the road behind it, but otherwise keeping his eyes on the pilot.

"Ow," was the one word Murdock granted him. B.A. filed it under, _better than nothing_. The larger man released part of his friend's shirt experimentally, though he kept one hand on him to steady him just in case. When Murdock didn't instantly face-plant, B.A. took the moment to reach down and grab the rifle he'd pulled earlier. He paused a moment he probably didn't have, giving Murdock a good hard look. The man outranked him, but Murdock tended to avoid giving orders at any cost. The question was whether Murdock was with it enough to watch the treeline.

"I need you to show me you're really a Ranger," B.A. said, pressing the rifle into Murdock's hands. He didn't dare look away from those slightly unfocused eyes to check, but it seemed to take far too long for Murdock to actually take the rifle. "And watch my ass."

Nothing set the _wrongness_ of the situation into B.A.'s bones quite like the way that Murdock didn't argue — no, not argue, Murdock wouldn't have argued, not with their lives on the line or even if they weren't, because Murdock was a Ranger but, damn, he should have said _something_. Anything. The crazy man was never without a joke or at least something mildly annoying to throw alongside the bullets. Instead, Murdock was silent. Checked the clip with bloodied fingers, released the safety, cocked it against his shoulder, and swiveled to watch the horizon. B.A. could tell that most of Murdock's weight was on the door, could guess that the pilot wouldn't be upright without it, but the gun was steady and that was as good as they were going to get. From this side, he could see that Murdock was hurt more than just the wound dripping blood down the side of his face, he was covered in glass and small cuts, but no broken bones. Or, none that B.A. could see. But, those were seconds that B.A. didn't have.

He ducked back into the car, finding Face curled up in a fetal position on the roof. B.A. touched him to give him the same treatment as Murdock, but Face let out such a groan that B.A. released him instantly.

"Wha 'appen?" Face ground out. B.A. didn't answer. He had turned his attention to Hannibal, who was still hanging upside-down in his seat. B.A.'s hands went to the buckle, but it was locked in place and he couldn't quite get his hands in the right place to disengage it. A glance back at Face showed that the other man had picked himself up, mostly, crouched on the roof of B.A.'s van with his arm hanging strangely in front of him. His other hand was fiddling down by his belt, where B.A. knew the other man kept a knife. Satisfied with that plan, glad not to think on it anymore, B.A. turned back to Hannibal. The Colonel's eyes were shut, his face reddened from hanging upside-down, but breathing. Just in case, B.A. checked for a pulse. He didn't move his hand away even after he found one.

Face freed his knife and, with some difficulty, set himself up on Hannibal's other side. "You alright, man?" B.A. asked, though he was afraid he knew the answer already. Face didn't get a chance to answer.

"Company!" called Murdock. Shots followed that declaration, close enough that it was Murdock firing, and B.A. said a silent prayer that the crazy man wasn't so rattled that he was firing at friendlies. B.A.'s eyes found Face's, and wordlessly B.A. willed there to be an order. Anything. The slightest bit of direction. All these fools outranked B.A., and just because he was the only one still mostly functioning right now was no reason for him to be giving the orders.

Face's eyes were glassy, though. More than Murdock's. His shoulder was hanging at that damn angle that screamed dislocation, and Face's expression was grim enough that B.A. knew he felt it. "Go help Murdock," was the only order that Face conjured. "I'll get Hannibal out."

B.A. wanted to protest, wanted to tell Face to go help Murdock and B.A. would get Hannibal out, but he was moving before the option to dissent even occurred to him. By the time he pulled himself from the upside-down van, Murdock was fielding returning fire. Not for the first time, B.A. was glad that they were in an armored van, with all its modifications, rather than some other stolen car. Murdock hadn't ducked down yet, hadn't moved except to scrunch up as tiny as possible into his position, and when B.A. came to look beside him, he knew why. Their aim was downright disgraceful. Drug dealers, drug pushers, not a soldier among them. Lucky, lucky, they'd been lucky so far. If Hannibal had been planning, B.A. would say that the old man had seen them through again, but this wasn't part of the plan. This was luck, plan and simple. Stupid, plain luck.

It was bound to run out.

B.A. could see them through the treeline, the dozen or so that had been dispatched to deal with them. If B.A. had to guess, he would say that they'd come to investigate the IED, that they weren't part of the paramilitary operation at the plant (or, if they were, this was the B-team), and they had about all of two minutes to get Hannibal's escape plan back on track before the real bad dudes showed up.

Hannibal was unconscious. Face was hurt. Murdock was hurt. His fault, his fault. B.A. grit his teeth, forced that thought away, because he couldn't deal with it right now. He had to get them back on the road. Well, there was a truck. It was right there, on the road. It was uncovered, not very pretty, but it was running. They only had to drive it about five miles to where the militia was set up, and they had a medical clinic there. Only about a dozen guys between him and it, but they didn't have time to pick them off from down here…

"Can you give me covering fire?" B.A. asked, even though it was redundant. Murdock didn't look down at him, didn't answer except through continued fire. B.A. reached into a pack, and produced three clips which he then laid out on the roof of the van by Murdock's foot. "Ammo, to your right," he told him, patting him once on the calf on that side to remind him. B.A. straightened, peeked out over the car door to check. They were still disorganized, and Murdock was doing a surprisingly good job of keeping them clustered by their van. But there were trees to contend with, and disorganization wouldn't last forever. "I'm gonna go see if I can get us a ride out of here."

"Get me something with wings," Murdock replied, enough like himself that B.A. chuckled a little.

"Not on your life, fool," B.A. told him, as B.A. pulled off his jacket. He was so pleased to hear Murdock speaking like himself that B.A. pressed just a little bit more, "Don't shoot me, you hear. Or I'll come back and kick your ass."

Murdock didn't answer. B.A. grit his teeth, casting one last look backwards. The crazy man was intense, silent and steady and everything a Ranger should look like and _wrong_. Inside the van, B.A. could see that Face had freed Hannibal, but the Colonel still wasn't moving. That was wrong too, so wrong, just like the angle of Face's arm, but B.A. couldn't fix it. Not with incoming fire, not with them trapped in an upside-down van with enemy fire incoming.

His fault.

B.A. tapped the side of the door three times to let Murdock know he was moving, then took off. He heard the bullets popping off, close, Murdock, and heard the plentiful returning fire. Another weapon joined Murdock's, close enough to have been Face's 9mm. Good. Despite the covering fire, B.A. was not entirely safe from bullets heading his way, but it was fine. His team was depending on him. B.A. kept moving. He was up the ditch, feet pounding heavily on the dirt road before he could feel the sting of exertion.

He had thought he might hesitate. Pike was one thing. Lynch was one thing. This? B.A. slammed the heel of his palm right into the nearest man's throat, used his other hand to grab his AK, and kept moving through him as he brought the weapon to bear. They weren't soldiers. Drug pushers, drug runners, with automatic weapons. It didn't take long to clear them out. B.A. didn't even have to change magazines, not with Face and Murdock helping from below. The whole thing was over in seconds, so disproportionate to the pounding of B.A.'s heart that he didn't believe that all the enemies were down for a full minute after they were.

B.A. called the all clear only after circling both vehicles twice, and spent the time it took for Murdock and Face to carry Hannibal up to the road checking underneath the hood, under the car, inside the car - anywhere another IED might've been hiding. He checked the hood again as Murdock and Face got Hannibal settled in the front seat, as Murdock helped Face into the backseat, and it was only when Murdock passed around behind B.A., stumbling a bit, that B.A. snapped out of it. Grabbed Murdock's arm, helped the crazy fool to the car without a word, and climbed into the driver's seat himself. Sloppy, sloppy. This was sloppy. If it were B.A., he'd have thrown everything at them. Not a handful of guys in two trucks. Another attack was coming, before they could get to safety, B.A. just knew it.

The drive back to the militia base was silent and uneventful. As if nothing had happened at all. It took Face's hand on B.A.'s shoulder to get the ex-ranger to let go of the steering wheel once they were parked outside the tiny hospital.

XXX

B.A. Baracus made himself the menace of the tiny militia hospital. It was set up in a former government building, which meant that the A-Team could have had separate rooms should they wanted, but after a near miss like that… Well, it just made it easier for B.A. to harass them. It was the best way he knew to make sure they were alright.

Murdock, it turned out, needed stitches in the crazy head of his. The doctor treating Murdock was quite disturbed to see how, to quote Murdock, "over the moon" B.A. was to hear this news. "Tell him you want a lightning bolt. Or, better yet, let me do it. Come on, Murdock, you owe me that much. Come on, here, I'll be your doctor. Yep, just give me that and I'll give you a lightning bolt. You'll be just like what's-his-name — Harry Potter!" That last comment got him what he had been aiming for: it got Murdock laughing. Face and Hannibal were chuckling before that, no doubt at the deer in the headlights look Murdock was giving at even the threat of B.A. coming near him with a needle and thread, but that wasn't really funny. Not to B.A., nah, it was never a good thing to see Murdock shell-shocked and quiet. Crazy man might drive B.A. up a wall sometimes, but Murdock was meant to be loud, a presence in whatever room he was in. B.A. only walked away after earning that laugh, loudly declaring it was because the doctor wouldn't let him do lightning bolt stitches, pretending not to hear Murdock's "I would've swerved too, man."

Face was easier. B.A. held him steady as they put his shoulder back into place, wincing right along with him as Face rode out that wave of pain. Face had already laughed at B.A.'s exchange with Murdock earlier, but the pain of having his shoulder re-set wiped the good cheer from his face. Sneaking him a six-pack of beer later was all it took to put the smile back on Face's pale, tired, but relatively intact features. B.A. talked loudly about some hot nurses he saw in the hallway over Face's attempted "thanks for getting us out of there."

Hannibal was easier still. Bossman had only had a concussion, in spite of being the closest to the explosion. There were a few cuts and bruises here and there, but they all had those. That didn't make Hannibal special. The doctors made him promise to stay off his feet for twenty-four hours, minimum, but other than that gave him a clean bill of health. B.A. made sure he stuck to it, too. It was easier with the three of them in one room. After his stitches, Murdock had passed out, face-down on the bed, and had proceeded to snore loudly. Not loudly enough to wake Face, who had fallen asleep half-seated, back propped against the wall, with a half-empty bottle of beer tilting dangerously in his hand. That made watching Hannibal even easier to watch. They talked of the things surrounding the mission without actually speaking of the crash, but the look on Hannibal's face told B.A. that he was only biding his time. It was severe enough to rattle him after a while, and B.A. turned to the duffel bags for a distraction, producing one of Hannibal's cigars.

"Don't know if you're still wanting this, Bossman, but if you do you've probably got about five minutes before the docs come back and take it from you," B.A. said, aiming for nonchalant and missing spectacularly, holding the cigar out to Hannibal.

Hannibal took it, but didn't bite down on it. "It's not your fault, B.A.," Hannibal said, gently, and damn if it didn't kick B.A. straight in the gut. It was the tone that got to him more than the words themselves, it was Hannibal's _do-we-need-to-talk-son? _tone, and B.A. did not want to hear it right now.

"That's some bullshit, bossman," B.A. responded, automatically, not dropping his gaze from Hannibal. The Colonel's expression turned somewhat softer, and B.A. thought he might've seen disappointment in his eyes. Or was that sympathy? "And you know it."

Hannibal was quiet a moment. "I'm not sure that I do, B.A.," he told him. B.A. shifted uncomfortably, looking away. He knew that Hannibal was waiting for him to say something, but B.A. didn't really want to. He didn't want to have this talk with Hannibal, not now. Not ever, frankly. But the silence was stifling and B.A. could feel the Colonel's eyes on him, so he looked back up into that softer expression, hating to see it.

"You alright, son?" Hannibal asked quietly.

B.A. hesitated before he answered, glancing away. His eyes found Face first, B.A.'s lips curving upwards in a smile when he saw that the beer was starting to leak from the bottle as it slipped in Face's grasp. He found Murdock next, the crazy fool laying so he couldn't see his face but the snores broadcasting that he was absolutely alive. By the time he drew his eyes back to Hannibal, B.A. had his answer. "Yes, sir," he said, quietly.

So long as there were still four of them, then B.A. was alright.

* * *

_Story also published on my tumblr, behindthescarydoor. _


	2. Move Faster and Fight Harder (Face)

**_Chapter 2: Move Faster, and Fight Harder _****(Face) **He was supposed to come right back, but the black haired beauty was calling him over... and well, Hannibal never expressly _forbid_ sleeping with her. So long as he was in position in the morning, then everything would be fine. He'd already gotten the forgeries, his job was basically done already.

**_Warnings: _**_Minor blood, language, about what you would expect in a PG-13 movie. _

* * *

Templeton Peck awoke to peace and warmth enveloping him like a physical presence, almost like a comforter wrapped just tightly enough around his shoulders and feather light pillows to support his body. Blearily, he opened his eyes, half expecting to see his shitty hostel room and the large mystery stain on the yellowed wall, but was instead greeted by happy, leafy green wallpaper. The comforter and pillows were real. He was in an actually decent bed, for the first time in a long time. Footsteps behind him made him roll over, his hand instantly dipping under the pillow for the weapon that wasn't there, but he stilled when it was a familiar, gorgeous face moving towards him. What was her name again? That was bound to come up at some point...

He flashed her his best, sleepy grin, hoping it would absolve him. She gave him a very small one in return.

"You can leave whenever," she said, leaning over to kiss him on the temple. She gave his shoulder a little smack, and was off again, moving briskly towards the bathroom. "So long as whenever is within the five minutes it takes for me to get done in the shower. I've got to go to work and that means checking out of the hotel." She threw a small smile at him over her shoulder. "It's been fun. Nice meeting you."

Then she was gone, with a little wave he suspected was at least somewhat insincere, in the bathroom, and the water was running by the time Face had sat up and pressed the heel of his hand into his eye. "Wait," he let out, quietly, frowning at his own legs covered by the sheets. This... wasn't normally how these mornings went for him. "What - what time is it?"

"It's just after eight," she called back from the shower. He nodded, a small thing, uncomprehending.

For a moment, the peace was allowed to reign. His lower half was warm and comfortable in the soft cocoon of pillows and blankets, and they called to him, urged him to lay back down and roll over, to go back to sleep and convince her to play hookey with him. He'd done it before. What did she have to do that was so important anyway? A half bleary survey of the room gave him baggage, a crisp uniform with wings on the lapels, sweet little aviators on the bedside table, and his memory jogged enough to conjure that she was a pilot for one of the commercial airliners, so okay maybe she _shouldn't_ play hookey, but that didn't mean Face wouldn't try to convince her to...

He frowned, catching sight of something else. An id on cardstock, on the hotel's crisp bedside table, laying under the aviators. Her passport, French, beside it. His frown deepened, reaching out for it without a second thought, noticing that his chest felt tight for some reason, like he hadn't taken another breath in when he blew the last one out. The picture was cute, if too official for his liking, cheap printer black and white, her eyes obscured slightly by a large stamp. It listened her name, birthday, country of origin, airline, duration of stay, was missing a corner with tear away edges that they would have taken when she entered the country, plus several other identifying features...

... and it looked nothing like the forgeries that he'd made for himself and the guys.

Peace left him with a jolt, an impact not unlike being shot.

Denial clawing at him, he grabbed for her passport, opening it up to check it for authenticity. He'd just made a French passport, four of them, not two months back, he would know if it was - "Shit!" he let out, sitting still for only a moment more before Army training kicked him in the ass and he was flying, pulling clothes on, grabbing his one bag with what he needed for the day, checking it to ensure nothing was missing, stumbling out the door before he thought to ask her how far after eight it was. Maybe it would be okay...

The clock read 8:23 when he first thought to glance, half out the door already, _that's not JUST after eight!_ When he was outside her apartment, half clothed and hopping, struggling with his shoe, it was 8:24, and _oh c'mon, that's not fair, I had a whole minute I could've used ! _When he got lost and couldn't find the exit past the iron fences and finally hopped it, the clock said 8:25. "This isn't happening," he urged no one, joining the hustle and bustle on the street with one arm in his jacket, taking a very brisk walk towards the airport, glancing at the sun to confirm he was going the right direction.

He wouldn't get there in time, not to fix it. Not even to warn them. He was one of the last moving parts of this whole thing. They were already going, and he was blocks away...

Their plans to leave the country post-raid had not gone well. Much to Hannibal's displeasure, the militia wasn't keen on paying them any more for continued work, but nor were they keen on losing the A-Team. The Commander evidently figured that, hey, why not just trap them in country, give them no way to fly out, and hope they fought for him for free, which was an okay-ish plan as plans went, but the Commander should have thought of Hannibal Smith's reputation beforehand. (And, of course, Murdock's insistence that he could "totally fly us all out in a tin can with some cardboard wings strapped to it, c'mon, it'll be fine, screw that guy.")

Hannibal Smith didn't like bullies. Especially not when they came out of supposed allies. Face knew enough that staying in this country any longer would only grow them an enemy, and he'd frankly like to stop adding names to that particular list.

They had looked at options, together, in a little shit hole of a room that they were sharing together. Face had offered to get two rooms, adjoining, as that would look less suspicious than four obviously not-from-around-here men sharing one room, but the idea was canned after more than a few moments thought. B.A. was like a mother hen, Murdock was nursing a head wound, and Hannibal ordered at least one of them be awake at any given time, just in case. So, hot-racking, which even after so long in the Army still made Face's skin crawl a little.

The safest option was the air. The plan: have Murdock fly them out in a plane, over the border, out of this place and preferably to some tropical island somewhere. It sounded simple, but the prep would entail precision.

The airfield in town was the only place to really get anything air worthy, unless they wanted to go back to the militia base or the cartel's headquarters. Hannibal ruled out the former, and common sense ruled out the latter. So, they were stuck with the airport, really barely large enough to rate airport status, and little else. Murdock insisted that he could absolutely fly them out, no problem, 100%, but the issue was actually getting him anything to fly. B.A.'s frantic suggestions that they just drive out had been nixed by the border guards at the crossings, too well armed to just blow through, and manned by the very militia whom they'd helped.

It all came back to the airfield, then. Guarded, and on the lookout for the four men. Hannibal had taken two days to draw up a plan, while they rested up, Face icing his still throbbing shoulder. Murdock refused to wear bandages over his stitches, only his hat, and B.A. kept trying to mother all of them with trips down to the side store that was gas station chic for the latest in food that was going to give them all heart attacks. Hannibal was insistent that they all board the same plane, and Face agreed with that sentiment - he didn't want to split up, and risk having one person stranded behind for whatever reason - but, as he'd pointed out to Hannibal, it made the four of them sneaking through the airport rather difficult. They were all rather conspicuous, and he didn't even want to think about what B.A. would look like prior to boarding the plane. But, once they were 10,000 feet up in the air they would be safe, autonomous, and untouchable. It was the best way out, even if it came with the most up front risk.

Hannibal's plan was, admittedly, simple. For them, it was a cakewalk. Face was to get them some fake ids (done), fake entry permits (done), fake licenses (done), and then Murdock was to pose as a pilot (with a uniform and everything), while the rest of them posed as the ground crew (with slightly less snappy uniforms). They would take over a package plane, a small thing with rotors that made B.A. shake to even hear about it, but in his words, "hell, if it gets me out of this shit country, I'd take a hang-glider." So, they would get up off the runway, Murdock would fly _around_ the anti-aicraft measures ("aw, but I wanted to do some sweet aerial flips!" immediately followed by "man, shut the hell up fool"), and then scot-free, apparently. Face wasn't really sure if the plan was airtight, given how unstable the militia's attempts at governance were; destabilization never made Face feel better, it always made him feel like there was a greater chance of getting shot at when something looked out of ordinary. The newly installed government in these parts came with cracks, yes, but in Face's experience it also meant itchier trigger fingers. Itchier still this close to the front.

Militia freedom fighters, drug cartels, a corrupt government, a three way civil war - this country had 'em all. Hannibal sure knew how to pick 'em.

Face's job was to get them through, make them look good, teach them the con, handle the hardest parts of it himself. Cakewalk. It wasn't so different than going through security during the infamous Rabbi Swahili incident or the stealing a military plane from the US Army, but it didn't make Face feel so good. He'd been jumpy since their van flipped, since they had come that close. They couldn't get out of this country fast enough, if you asked Face. B.A. would be back to normal afterwards, they could coax him back, and all would be fine. Or, so Face thought, until Face couldn't sleep. Until their little shithole of a room made Face want to claw at something. They'd be leaving tomorrow, but the minutes ticked by in the agonizing pace that typically only happened during guard duty.

Hannibal had been less than thrilled when Face announced that he had to get out of their shithole room, with midnight fast approaching.

"I'm just going down to the bar, get a few drinks, maybe find something to take the edge off," Face had said, and really he had meant it as a joke. He had meant it to lighten the mood, but one look around the shithole room - Hannibal's face grinding into a frown, Murdock looking up from his feigned sleep like he'd heard a gunshot, B.A. half standing up from his converted workbench/bathroom sink - and, _shesh, _the guys really needed to calm down. Loosen up. Take a vacation or something. Maybe Face really would suggest they land in like the Bahamas or something when they finally got their plane.

"Face," Hannibal had said, his tone dipping just into what Face assumed disapproving father's must when their teenage sons asked to borrow the car.

"It'll be fine, Boss, don't worry about it," Face had assured him, and he probably had thrown a wink in someone's direction. Still nothing on the _loosening up_ front. "I'll be a perfect gentleman." Seeing Hannibal's mouth start to move, Face gave his Colonel his best grin and interjected, "I'm kidding. I've just got to go grease some palms and get things moving for tomorrow. They're really not great about organization here, so I want to get as many people looking the other way as possible or at least looking the wrong way. See about maybe some other passports or IDs for added security, but I doubt we'll need those. Entry permits are law in these parts."

It really was such a shame that Hannibal seemed immune to Face's best grins. Or, maybe that was experience talking?

"I'll be in position in the morning, never fear," he had promised. And if he were to just _pause _by the bar on the way back... Face flashed Hannibal a second grin, hoping to chip away at that resolve. "Plan on me being there, Bossman. I always am, aren't I?"

Four minutes, thirty seven seconds to go, and Face was still more than a mile away. On foot.

He fumbled for his earpiece, unearthing it with some difficulty, juggling his bag of meager belongings. When he put it in, clicked it on, he winced to hear the tone of voice with which he was being discussed. _" - ace, come in? ... has anyone heard from Face?"_

"Nearly in position," Face responded, picking his light jog up in pace. A run would look suspicious, but at this point it was a matter of getting to his spot on time so he could cover B.A. and Murdock, and less about arousing suspicion. If B.A. and Murdock were already in position, if they'd gone without him...

_"What happened, Face? Where are you?" _snapped Hannibal, immediately, and the concern in that tone...

"I got held up," Face said, clipping the microphone under his lapel with practiced ease. He didn't want to get into it, not here, not now. Move faster. His face was getting red, he could feel the heat rise up to it as the shame set in. Quickly he added, "I'm fine, nearly there." He didn't want anyone to waste time worrying about him, or thinking that he'd gotten himself shot. "We've got another problem," Face continued, trying to speak calmly past the lump in his throat. "I screwed up the entry permits, boss. The one I got must've been old, or a forgery, because - " Face lowered his voice, realizing that he was getting odd looks. Was it because he was talking about forgeries, or because he was walking very quickly talking to nothing in English? "- the colors are all wrong, the seal is misshapen, it's obviously a forgery, we shouldn't -"

_"Slow down, Face," _Hannibal urged, his tone hard. _"How did you find this out?"_

Face wanted to lie to him. Face had never wanted to lie to Hannibal Smith more. "I met... a pilot last night. Hers is legit. Her passport is right. French, a real one. I'm confident."

The silence that greeted him was deafening.

After too long, the radio crackled again. _"Uhm," _said Murdock, his voice very quiet. Face's stomach dropped.

_"Murdock and B.A. are already in position!" _Hannibal reminded him, voice cutting hard against Face's calm. Murdock and B.A. were already out in the open. It was too late to turn back around. He picked up his pace to a run, fuck everyone else, glancing down at his watch. The plan had been to go during the change of the guard, from overnight to morning, just as overnight was getting out. They would be tired, more prone to making mistakes. _"I'm on approach. How bad are these?"_

_"Already past the id, check, man. I got by fine," _B.A. spoke up, quietly, and Face ran through the plan in his head - B.A. would be approaching the tarmac, if not on the tarmac itself, under the guise of loading their little plane with exports. Okay, okay , so B.A. was fine. His entry pass had worked. Hannibal had an entry pass that claimed him as from Lichtenstein, a small enough country with enough white people that Face didn't think they'd check too hard, and a lot of these aircraft brought crews in addition to pilots... that was the plan, that was the plan, but now Face's heart was beating far too fast and doubt had started to seep in.

_"I'm in line,"_ Murdock said, his voice very, very quiet. He coughed, loudly, and Face knew him well enough that he could imagine Murdock was smiling at the people around him in the security check line. Murdock would be inside the building, going through regular security rather than at one of the other outer checkpoints, entering as a pilot with other passengers. Murdock was posing as a passenger liner pilot, then was to break off and slip to them, securing a plane earlier than the actual crew would arrive... Going back through the plan usually made him feel better, but it wasn't working this time. Not at all. Very quietly again, he heard, _"Uhm, what do I do?"_

Face forced himself to grit his teeth, to say nothing, to let Hannibal make the call... only, after several seconds, Hannibal didn't. Instead, off in the distance, from the general direction of the airport, Face heard several sharp pops that could only mean one thing.

Then there was a crack, followed by several seconds of feedback screaming in Face's ear, and then nothing. Face's steps faltered. Forgetting himself a moment, he let loose a strangled, "What happened?"

Nothing. No sound greeted his words. In the background, he could almost make out Murdock speaking, but Hannibal and B.A. were silent. Face forced himself to slow, to think of the con, to be better at this than a panicked amateur. Breathe. In, out. No good to anyone if he wasn't sharp, focused... He was on the side of the road, talking to himself in the most suspicious manner possible, but he couldn't stop. "What happened?" he asked, any sense of professionalism gone. _Not like this, not like this, not like this!_

_"I'll get eyes on Hannibal," _B.A. spoke up, suddenly. _"Lots of movement towards his position. I've got company too." _Immediately after, it was hard to hear, but it sounded like someone was speaking to him. Someone was asking him what he was doing and, more subdued in Face's ear now, B.A. answered.

_"Facey?" _Murdock spoke up, voice tense. He needed an order. Someone needed to make the call. Had to figure out what happened to Hannibal, what was happening to B.A., what to do with the shreds of the plan... Right now, Murdock was the only person Face could account for.

Face's pace slowed. His heart was pounding hard against his temples, making it hard to think. "Bail," he said, past the lump in his throat. Murdock would listen, he would slip out of line and start walking back towards the street. They were to meet several blocks away if the plan failed, if... Face was breathing heavily, forcing himself to walk now as he listened. Almost, almost, c'mon buddy - something crackled in his ear, a sound too muffled to be heard but Face understood it to be people talking. The plan had been for Face to enter at a side entrance, to pose as a baggage handler, but he was not dressed for that - his false clothes were buried in the bag slung over his shoulder, balled up around his pistol - and so now, Face ducked into the airport, plan abandoned, the place bustling but not crowded enough to be anonymous, forcing himself not to react as he heard voices in his ear. Unintelligible, but angry. Murdock had been spotted ducking out of line.

_"Yes, oh, I've just got to go to the bathroom, my friend," _Murdock was saying, his voice heavily South African now in accent. _"Just thought of how long a flight it's going to be, and you know how those in flight bathroo - oh no, no need to check that, I'll be back later for - " _Face sucked in a hard breath as he heard louder voices speak over Murdock's, schooling his expression into indifference as best he could as he heard Murdock's voice get louder, and then for real, echoing in the airport. To his left. Murdock was shouting, people were shouting. Face turned towards that direction, moving briskly as he dared, he couldn't run, not even when he heard a blow land he had to pray that it was Murdock landing it and -

The _crack_ and few seconds of feedback in his ear told him that Murdock had stomped on his earpiece, or thrown it somewhere, or otherwise destroyed it. They had taken Murdock.

Face had told him to bail. That had drawn attention. They had checked his papers anyway. Wrong choice.

Breathing forcefully through his nose, Face walked as slowly as he could towards the security line, ducking next to a pillar and pulling out his phone. It was a fake, no SIM card in the thing, but he pretended to be reading a text as he checked reflection in the window. Four moving, security guards with guns drawn. Murdock was moving, but sluggishly. Not fighting too much. He could hear him, could barely make out _"my countrymen will hear about this insult!" _as they lifted him, and Face grimaced to see blood. If he had to guess, they'd hit him on the head. Had the stitches come out? He plain forgot about his phone as he watched them take Murdock in through a little side door, mostly carrying him, and Face grit his teeth so harshly that he was sure one was going to shatter. Three men with him.

Face had a gun on him, but the last thing he wanted to do was start a shootout in the airport. B.A. and Hannibal had weapons as well, but Murdock was clean. He was going through security. B.A. had spoken up first, had said that he didn't want to endanger civilians, and Murdock had backed him up instantly on that, vocally. It was the right call, but it did complicate matters - namely, Murdock would be taken to a small interrogation room and guarded. If Face knew Murdock, then the man's plan would be to break out in some spectacular fashion when left alone, but they didn't have that kind of time. They couldn't wait until he was left alone. They had to move, right now.

_Think, Face, _urged a voice in his head, in that tone that Hannibal always used. _Think._ They had planned for this - or, they had at least talked about this. Murdock would cooperate, then get out. They would help. Right? Right. Maybe. Face tried and failed to swallow past the lump in his throat.

He couldn't really be the last one left. He wouldn't be the last A-Team member left standing. _If you didn't move fast, you stand a real shot at losing us all. _

"Eyes on Murdock's last," Face said, to the blind. He didn't know where B.A. was, he had no ideas on what had happened to Hannibal, but on the off chance that anyone was still listening... "I'm getting him out," he promised, with the wordless addendum that _I'm coming for the two of you next_. Pocketing the phone, Face squared his shoulders and began a march towards the side door. So help him, he would snap necks if he had to...

God help him, didn't remember what he said to get into that hallway. He remembered the approach, he remembered shutting the door behind him as he entered, but nothing else. His heart was beating too fast. His shoulder was throbbing. He shouldn't have run here.

The hallway inside was sparse, white walls. Aircraft noise was louder here, echoing off the thin walls. His own steps, though heavy and quick, didn't seem to make any noise at all. There was also a distant thudding, back here where the walls were thinner. Baggage processing? Face stored the thought away, checking for Murdock. It was a long hallway, one turn at the end, they hadn't had enough time to take him too far...

The rooms had windows, at least, or doors ajar. The door was half ajar when he spied Murdock in it - not more than a minute had passed. One man was over him, connecting his hands to the table with handcuffs. Where was the third man? Face only saw two. No time, no time, they had to move, before this got reported. Face slammed his shoulder into the door - mistake, mistake, _ow_ - hearing it thud against the thin wall.

Murdock's head snapped up, wide eyes finding him in a deer in the headlights look that would have otherwise made Face chuckle, two men standing before him. He was handcuffed to a silvery table, half slumped over it, and that was all he had time to survey. Face was moving through the doorway, slamming the back of his fist against one man's nose, feeling it shatter beneath him. The second guard tried to bring his weapon to bear, but Face stepped to the side as he moved in, grabbing his chin and slamming it back against the wall. The guard slumped, unconscious, to the ground, in the time it took for Face to grab the other man and slam his head against the edge of the metal table. That man slumped too, down hard, and Face took half a second to make sure he was still breathing.

Panting, Face looked back to Murdock, keeping one ear out for movement in the corridor. The pilot had unearthed a paperclip from the papers on the table and was currently working it in the lock of his handcuffs. He had paused, wide eyes on Face. "That was badass," Murdock told him frankly, and ordinarily Face would have returned the awed tone with some smart comment. Face couldn't find the breath to do so just now.

"B.A., talk to me buddy," he urged, finger pressed against his ear even as he moved forward to help Murdock. There was silence. Face tried to breathe, moving his hands to try to help, only to get smacked away by Murdock. "B.A., c'mon man," Face urged, reduced to nothing more than watching Murdock unlock the first handcuff and wrestling the paper clip out to manhandle the other lock.

Face swallowed, moving towards the doorway to check the hallway - nothing, nothing yet, where was B.A.? Face had opened his mouth to ask again, and again and again and again until he got an answer, but a noise to his left made him look, to see Murdock half slumped over, hands grasping harshly at the corners of the table.

He was back over by the pilot in less than two steps. "You okay?" Face asked, eyes sweeping over the man's head. The stitches were torn, at least two of them, and Face's hand hovered by the man's elbow. Murdock didn't answer but to give a low, horrid groan, making a vague gesture towards his head before slamming the hand back down to catch himself. Face grimaced, not sure what to do. They had to move. There was blood on Murdock's white shirt collar, dripping down the side of his face. A cursory glance showed that three of Murdock's stitches had come loose, that his head was bleeding, that _they had to have hit him pretty hard to have done that_, _with something other than a fist._

_"Eyes on Hannibal's last," _crackled B.A.'s voice, strained and further away than it had been before. Face wanted to ask why, to ask if he was okay, but they had no time._"They've got him in a holding area. Small room, but there's a couple guards. Rubber bullets in their guns. Looks like Bossman took a few rubber rounds, too, cause he ain't moving too quick. They've got a guy in there with him, but I can't shoot these guys without bringing the whole airport down on us." _

Face blew out a long exhale, staring a Murdock. The pilot gave a shrug, a _what's-going-on_ gesture that Face repaid by mouthing B.A.'s name and gesturing towards the earpiece. "You've got to talk your way into the room, B.A.," Face said, slowly, trying to think if there was another possibility. There didn't seem to be. "You can knock the guy out from inside the room, if you do it quietly, but you've got to talk your way in first."

_"How?" _B.A. asked, and there was trust in the tone.

_Jesus_. Face shut his eyes tightly, trying to think. Trying to remember. What had he said? What the fuck had he said, not even one minute past, to get to this room? He heard Murdock say his name, as a question, but it didn't sound urgent in tone. Face had a few seconds yet to think.

"Grab a package," Face said, thinking on the fly. What would work for him wouldn't necessarily always work for B.A. or anyone else. They had difference characteristics, different strengths, and B.A.'s was decidedly not skilled at lying on the fly. Face had to get him in with as few words as possible. Hopefully Hannibal was okay enough to worry about the getting out, because Face had no ideas on that front for any of them, not even himself and Murdock. "Is there a side entrance? Pick one that looks like a workers entrance, if you can grab a clipboard great. B.A., you have to look like you're meant to be there. Okay? Don't make eye contact and, if you do, smile and nod, like you would stop to say hello if you had time. If they ask you where you're going, tell them... tell them that you're just delivering something. Where are you? Can you see, guess what the building is used for?" They had all memorized maps of the airport prior to coming here, and right now, Face was trying map what he remembered. They weren't supposed to have gone into the buildings, and Face was used to being confident enough not to have paid too much attention.

_"On the tarmac. Upper left building, facing from the street."_

Upper left, upper left, upper left... "Just... if they ask, use a name of one of the militia guys. Pick one, not too high up, but say it confidently." That way, Face was sure the surname was not unusual, or could at least hedge that bet...

_"Moving," _was the only confirmation Face got out of B.A. In the next moment, Murdock was saying his name again, urgently this time, and they weren't alone. B.A. was on his own.

The third man had returned, a clipboard in hand, head bent down low over it. That gave Face half a second before he reacted, half a second enough to slam his palm over the man's mouth to muffle his shout. He went down easier than the other two, with a much harder crack of skull against doorframe.

"We have to go," Face told Murdock, the obvious. The pilot had already started to move towards him, unsteady enough that Face reached out to catch him. Murdock instantly stiffened, instantly tried to pull away, but Face held on. "It's better if you lean on me," Face lied. Murdock stopped pulling away for a moment to contemplate this. "It's better if you pretend to be drunk, keep your head down towards me, so no one notices the blood or your face, okay?" After a long moment, Murdock consented, putting more of his weight on Face's shoulder. It tore at him, but Face held on, urging Murdock to start walking quickly down the hallway, muttering things about being in character that was more to let of Face's nervous energy than to instruct Murdock.

There was nothing that Face could do to help B.A. but listen, and be here to offer small ideas as to what he should say as B.A. moved. B.A. had yet to ask. Meanwhile, Face had to keep Murdock upright, had to get the two of them out. He was running two cons at the same time, two rescue missions, in different stages of completion.

Finding a way out was easy, just followed the hallway to the other end, where it emptied into baggage claim and, by that point, Face was talking loudly to Murdock about nothing and everything, a false smile fixed to his place face. Passengers barely even looked up, barely even questioned the one uniformed man leaning heavily on the not uniformed man, and the guards had only a few seconds to decide if they were worth pursuing before Face had walked the two of them out of _can't be bothered_ range. He circled Murdock back around the inside, back towards ticketing, counting on the guards there having more things to do than those stationed outside watching cars.

No word from B.A., the entire time. Face could assume either radio silence, that no one had stopped him, or the worst. Face's brain conjured only the latter exclusively.

Murdock's pace had just started to falter for the first time, with Face slowing a bit to match, when Face's earpiece crackled to life again. _"Report." _

Face let out a small sigh of relief at the sound of Hannibal's voice (B.A. must have relinquished his earpiece to the Colonel), but it was clipped. He stopped it halfway - no time for relief, they weren't anywhere near done yet, they weren't safe yet. But, Hannibal was in his ear again, which was a far sight better for his nerves than anything else that happened in the last several minutes.

"I've got Murdock," Face confirmed, glancing down at his brother in time to see him give a small thumbs-up motion. "We're okay, near the front of the terminal, by ticketing. Seconds, not minutes, before they notice something's wrong."

_"We've got eyes on our plane," _Hannibal said, and his voice was strained. It was more noticeable the longer and longer he spoke. _"But you've got eyes on our pilot. Call it, Face." _

"Abort," Face said, after only a moment's consideration. They could try to make a run for it, try to get to the plane now and gun it, but Murdock was sagging against him too much for Face to even consider putting him behind controls. Hannibal's voice was strained, he hadn't heard from B.A. since that rescue of Hannibal- it was too much, too many unknowns, and Face couldn't ask them to keep going, not when things had gone so wrong on his watch. Without their lives being threatened, Face wasn't going to ask it. They could try again later.

Face swam through the rest of the conversation. Hannibal told him that they were getting a car, and Face must have said something other than _what the hell happened are you okay_ _was it the entry permit it had to be right this was my fault _because he and Murdock limped along, in a pace Face set with consideration of the pilot. No one stopped them. No one even looked twice, not when Face was talking loudly about never letting Murdock hit the booze again mid-flight and Murdock was himself enough to offer some comments in a silly accent, but it was off enough to be more worrying than the usual fun and exhilarating. Even their resident crazy man could only take so many blows to the head. And Hannibal, Hannibal had been shot, rubber bullets hurt, they could break something. No word on B.A., did B.A. get hurt because of him too?

He had thought he'd be able to breathe once the airport was in the rearview, but no such luck.

Face had nothing to do with getting them out. It was all B.A., and his ability to steal cars at the drop of a hat. He and Hannibal picked Face and Murdock up several blocks from the airport, in a small beater of a car that Murdock had needed help bending down to get into. Hannibal had been the one to unearth a rag for Murdock to press against his stitches, bleeding again now. Murdock had been cognizant enough to remind them all that they would need different clothes. All Face did was pick the hotel, the same he'd left earlier today, hopping out of the car and lifting cash from several sources on the way in, and paid for a room on the second floor. Balcony, multiple exits, backed to the alleyway... Face checked and triple checked everything that he could think of before meeting back up with the guys. He found them clothes in a store on the corner of the hotel's block, guessing sizes and style preferences from memory, but he encouraged going inside in their current garb. The hotel saw the most international travelers that could be expected, especially those from the airlines. Plus, it was owned internationally, which meant a political shit storm if invaded... Face could only hope it was enough of a deterrent for them to get at least this one night's rest, to come up with a new plan, to patch themselves back up...

Time was moving quickly, too quickly, and all at once Face was in the bathroom of an admittedly better hotel room, staring at himself in the mirror and unable to catch his breath. He would have to face them, face the team, have to look them in the eye. His shoulder throbbed, ached, but he had nothing more than a cool washcloth to put on it for now. Feeling like a coiled spring of one part pain and two parts guilt, Face forced himself out of the bathroom to check on the guys.

Murdock was fine, it turned out, no worse for wear, and went into a tirade about "people in this country having obtuse standards surrounding air travel" and "how dare they question _my_ flying ability?!" as soon as prompted for his status. Face hovered around him for the duration of the rant, interjecting terse, "but are you _sure_ you're okay?" when the pilot paused for breath. He never really got a satisfactory answer to that. What he did get was a top ten list of what 80s action movies Murdock thought were the "funnest" and something in French spoken so rapidly that Face had trouble following, but it sounded like Murdock was translating the entire speech from _Independence Day_. Face eventually gave up, assuming that this was the best he was going to get out of the rattled pilot who did not do well when cornered, and left him to his television.

B.A. was easier to take care of, provided it was all non-verbal and non-explicit. Face held out a hand, B.A. looked at him briefly and then clasped it, and gave a nod. The man had been on edge ever since their stolen van flipped, terse, and tonight was no exception. He asked Face how the shoulder was, and then didn't speak much of anything. His focus was on a radio that he was cannibalizing, taking apart just to put it back together, and Face recognized a man who was looking for something to do with his hands so he didn't have to think. Face returned the favor of a beer, bought in the lobby, and left B.A. without once looking at the Colonel.

When Hannibal finally cornered him, on the balcony outside their room, Face's apology died on his tongue. He had come outside for air, and to escape Hannibal's gaze, but he should have known he would only be followed. He couldn't look the man in the face and apologize, he couldn't speak under that steely gaze. Hannibal had been hurt, that much was obvious, but the confirmation had come from B.A. instead of the Colonel. When B.A. had gotten to him, Hannibal had been in much the same circumstances as Murdock was, only instead of a head wound, Hannibal had taken several rubber bullets to the torso. Better than real bullets, but Face was certain that Hannibal was nursing far more than just bruises, especially with the way that Hannibal was standing with half his weight on the wrong foot.

Face jumped when his Colonel put his arm around his shoulder, half expecting a strike. Instead, the man pulled him in close in a sort of half hug that Face was too stiff to reciprocate, and then let the arm fall away. Stood too close to Face, who could not look at him, who glared at the concrete floor instead. Oh, god, Hannibal wanted to have a TALK, in all capital letters, and Face didn't think he could stand it. Not now. He didn't want to be psychoanalyzed, he didn't want absolution. Not when things had gone so far south. Almost went much further south. He didn't want to speak, not ever again.

Still, words left his mouth, because Hannibal was here and Hannibal was owed them. "I don't know what I was doing," Face admitted to the ground. "I - I mean, I won't lie, it felt good. It felt damn good. And, hey, she came onto me! Like, I barely even looked her way and she was... and then it was all dancing and then kissing and then everything else, but I was just..." Face gave a small shrug, shaking his head. A filthy square of linoleum glared back at him.

"You were looking for comfort," Hannibal supplied, after too long a moment. His Colonel's voice was quiet, far off almost. Face still didn't dare look up at him. Of course Hannibal would know what happened, what Face did, before even getting a half-coherent explanation. "You've never let it interfere with a mission before." There was silence for a moment, then Hannibal let out a small, crisp sigh. "You boys... have been through a lot in the past year. I've asked a lot of you. Perhaps too much."

Face thought about letting that stand. The guilt was easier to take if Hannibal took some of it for himself. But, no, no, Face couldn't live in that fantasy world for longer than a moment. He lifted his head, and told Hannibal, "No." Inhaling deeply and blowing it out shakily, Face ran a heavy hand through his hair. "No, I should have been better. Done my job, like you asked. Checked more than one source for the forgeries, been a fucking professional for once. I messed up and I nearly killed all of you, and I wouldn't have... if I'd been in position like I was supposed to be, I could have warned you off."

"If you'd been there, Face, you wouldn't have known what was wrong with your forgeries," Hannibal pointed out, and Face wanted to accept that too. He wanted to let Hannibal take away some of this swelling self-hatred, to alleviate some of that burden, but there were far too many lines on Hannibal's face already. Still, Hannibal tried to take some of the blame away, "You wouldn't have known to warn us, and we would have been in -"

"No," he said, interrupting Hannibal sharply. "No, I should have been there. If I'd been paying attention, there wouldn't have been a problem in the first place."

"Face - " Hannibal started, an expression Face couldn't read etched into the lines of his face.

"No," Face said, shaking his head and drawing back. "No, I should have been better, so no. It's bullshit, Hannibal, and I won't let it happen again. I can't let it happen again."

Before Hannibal could respond, Face backed far enough away to have the door on his left, and he took it, he opened that door and fled into their rooms, where B.A. was cannibalizing the radio still and Murdock was picking at his stitches. It knocked him back a moment, the sight of them, so normal aside from the few darkened places of skin where bruises lay or scabs stretched, and Face turned his head away as soon as he caught himself doing it, caught himself thinking about what he would have done if... Face shut his eyes tightly and shoved the heels of his palm into his eyes, rubbing mercilessly.

* * *

_Story also published on my tumblr, behindthescarydoor. _


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